


her sweet kiss (so sweet my smile aches)

by orphan_account



Series: i'm weak, my love (i'm too wanting) [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Ciri is trans, F/M, Geralt having a gender realization, Geralt is trans, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is the best boyfriend ever, Jaskier is trans, Nonbinary Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, This fic includes:, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Can't be a goddess." He eventually grunted, turning to stare at his food and avoiding Jaskier's gaze. It was an obvious request not to delve into the conversation, one Jaskier was well-equipped at ignoring."Why not?" He asked, voice a near whine. The look Geralt shot him was near incredulous, raising a pale brow and glaring lightly. He watched as Jaskier thought for a moment, before realization bloomed across the bard's face. "Oh." Jaskier said quietly. Good, maybe he'd fuck off. "Geralt, you know you can be anything you want."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: i'm weak, my love (i'm too wanting) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632907
Comments: 18
Kudos: 354





	her sweet kiss (so sweet my smile aches)

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt is. A nb trans woman. Jaskier is trans, Geralt is trans, Ciri is trans. It's unmentioned but Yennefer? Also trans. Fuck anyone who wants to argue it's my series now, goatman.

Geralt was weary, the fatigue digging through his bones and skull to crowd against his brain. It almost felt like the sensation had branded itself into his meninges, permanently a reminder of what he was and what he was not. He was something expendable, as he had been all too cruelly reminded of just earlier that day. A contract –tougher than most– that left him bruised around all his edges and twitching with every movement. Several botchlings had taken up residence with the village, and even after all the years he had spent fighting his way through the continent, he  _ still couldn't handle them _ . It was too cruel, and it made him feel like even more of a monster than he actually was. 

Thinking of their screams made his skin crawl even more than it usually did; a different sort of crawl. Not the  _ wrongtearitoffandfixit  _ sort of writhing, a disgusting one that made him feel as if he'd never be clean again. Too much like how he felt in Kaer Morhen, too much like even Yennefer, at times. He supposed that the monstrous, unclean parts of him were the reason the mayor laughed in his face when he came back for payment. Coated in blood and looking as distanced from reality as the moon, the mayor hadn't cared anything for his need to eat or sleep. 

And so Geralt left with Jaskier in tow, the bard strangely silent. Everything felt strange, when Geralt thought too hard on it. His head was throbbing somewhere behind his eyes and his face felt swollen, though he couldn't figure out why. Jaskier was eyeing him strangely as they moved, and something about the look in his eyes made Geralt want to rip his hair out. He didn't need  _ pity _ .

The sun was too bright against his sensitive eyes, and the world too loud against his sensitive ears, and he could smell everything, everything  _ badhappysadscreamingow _ and making his migraine grow more and more. He didn't know why he felt so bad, and faintly wondered if he was getting sick until he violently reminded himself that witchers didn't get sick. Sick meant  _ dead _ . Despite that his stomach still rolled, and saliva pooled in his mouth while his head throbbed with a violent fury. 

Geralt could hear Jaskier talking about something or another behind him, barely tuning in until he heard his name repeated. "–ralt? Geralt? Are you listening to me? I asked, what are botchlings exactly? You just made a face at me last time I asked." Jaskier's voice had a whining edge that normally wouldn't have bothered Geralt, yet it scraped almost bloodily against his ears at that moment and he swallowed down the growl that bubbled in his throat. 

He didn't want to talk about botchlings, didn't want to think about botchlings, never wanted to see another bloody botchling in his entire life. Jaskier noticed his silence, but, unable to see his face, continued to speak while Geralt gritted his teeth. Breathing didn't help, and the all too recent memory of the small, cursed creatures made him stop short in order to avoid purging the contents of his stomach. They made him think of Ciri and all the other children in his life and it  _ burned _ . "... Geralt, love?" He heard his bard ask quietly behind him, and he didn't respond with anything but a grunt. Geralt forced a deep breath and went to move, before his mind oh-so-helpfully provided him with another image of the bloodied infants and bile was rushing up his throat. 

Geralt ignored Jaskier's panicked noise when he jolted off the main path, hunching over to vomit up the meager weight in his stomach. He hadn't eaten much that day, too distracted or exhausted to even try, and as he heaved he only brought up noxious bile and what little water he had bothered to drink before they left. Geralt could scarcely hear Jaskier's frantic footsteps as he moved as close as possible and set a steadying palm against the small of Geralt's back. 

Geralt choked, sucking in air and making a sharp noise once the nausea faded enough for his stomach to be trusted. He could hear Jaskier whispering just behind him, stroking his back and reassuring him; it took little time for the bard to urge him to stand up as straight as he could and limp away from the mess and towards a felled tree- an easy seat. "Come along, love. You're okay- I'm sorry that happened. Are you feeling any better?" He could hear Jaskier still, voice soothing and softer than its earlier grate. The  _ warmhoneyedhome _ of it made him sigh, and he subtly leaned into Jaskier's supportive heat as he helped him sit down.

"Geralt?" He heard Jaskier ask again, "Are you feeling any better?"

".. I think so." Geralt finally answered, though he couldn't hide the wince that flashed across his face at the way his throat throbbed violently in protest. 

"Ah- here, why don't we go ahead and set up camp. I'll boil some tea and honey, hopefully it'll help how raw your throat has to be." 

Geralt wanted to argue, wanted to bite back that it was hardly mid-day and that they were going to miss miles of travel time; and yet a small part of him, weak and so, so  _ tired _ had him nodding in fatigue before he truly even comprehended the statements. He thought faintly that his voice must've gone off somewhere again as it was so wont to do, and boldly leaned his head against Jaskier's shoulder instead. Jaskier permitted him with a small and musical hum, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him somewhat closer. 

Normally Geralt would never dare act upon such a desire, but Jaskier was warm and soft, and the steady  _ thumpthudthumpthud _ and crackling  _ woosh _ of his heart and lungs soothed the frantic energy that had built ferociously inside of Geralt's feeble chest. Something to follow, a pattern that didn't change. He relaxed with a small sigh, letting his eyes fall shut. 

Jaskier was humming something fantastic and familiar, the same three notes that he always resorted to when in a dry rut. It made his chest vibrate against Geralt's face and made him close his eyes further, almost wishing he could fall asleep next to it and wake up soothed. He doubted Jaskier would allow that, however. Even after all the time spent together they had never done anything so brazen, and Geralt wasn't planning on changing that. 

*****

Geralt woke up some time later, disoriented and confused as to what had happened. He grunted, eyes barely open as he struggled to wake up. He was lying against something warm and nice smelling, and exhaled as he moved to lift his head up; it was promptly pushed delicately back down by callused fingers. 

"Right- I know you didn't exactly want to fall asleep but you needed it, so I let you. Obviously you need more still if you're acting like that, so I must insist you don't move." 

Geralt understood half of what Jaskier had said, tilting his head to look up at the man from his lap, which he now understood was being used as a pillow. Jaskier was smiling fondly back down at him, and moved to brush hair out of his eyes. "Go back to sleep, love." He grunted in complaint, wanting to stay awake and at least set up camp, but found his eyes fluttering shut against his will for the second time that afternoon. Geralt would swear up and down that Jaskier was some sort of magic.

*****

When he woke up for the second and final time, Geralt felt better than he had in quite a bit. He hadn't been jolted awake with squirming nightmares, nor had the rustling or chattering of native flora and fauna. It was… nice. He didn't know what to think about it. Geralt's head was still propped up on Jaskier's lap, and when he finally opened his eyes he found the bard staring at a pad of parchment he held in one thin hand. He was writing firmly with charcoal; likely new lyrics or a new chord formation that had crossed his fancy. 

It was after Geralt made a soft noise that Jaskier's attention was drawn from the parchment. He grinned when he saw Geralt awake and actually coherent, voice cheerful as usual. "Good afternoon, lovely." 

"Hn."

"He speaks!" Jaskier crows in playful jest, moving back and helping Geralt as he propped himself onto his elbows, swinging his knees and sitting properly next to the bard. 

"What the fuck happened?" Geralt asked, before pausing with the barest expression of a grimace at how much his throat protested. 

Jaskier looked faintly amused, and Geralt was annoyed with how much it didn't bother him. "Well," the musician began. "It was quite a bit. I'm sure you remember hurling all over a poor patch of wolfsbane after your latest monster, but I doubt you remember practically fainting on your dashing hero here." Geralt couldn't stop his snort at that, raising an unimpressed brow. 

He certainly remembered losing his lunch, doubtful anyone could erase that from their mind so quickly. He did  _ not, _ however, remember anything beyond that. "Didn't faint." He lightly denied, though considering everything that had happened the past week, he wouldn't put it past himself. It would certainly not have been the first time he blacked out somewhere on accident. 

"You did indeed, but it's little matter- you needed the rest. Honestly, you still look like you need rest. And food; when was the last time you remembered to eat, Geralt?" At the lack of an answer, his lighthearted expression dropped. "Geralt?" Still no response. " _ Geralt."  _

"... Yes, Jaskier?" 

"Did you eat at all yesterday?" Geralt pursed his lips, not answering. "I'm going to murder you, Geralt of Rivia. You vomited earlier, for the gods sake." 

"I'll be fine." 

"Not if I have any say so, and especially not if you don't  _ eat _ like a normal person." Geralt spared a glance at Jaskier and was met with a fierce glare, quickly making him turn away. "Oh- bloody hell, take this." Jaskier groaned, fiddling through his pack and pulling out a bundle of wax paper. "I noticed you hadn't been eating at the– eh, just take it." 

Geralt was rendered speechless when Jaskier pressed the sweet into his hands, blinking in confusion until the bard spoke. "I noticed you hadn't been eating much in general, lately, even if these last few days have topped them all. Past me thought maybe something more appetizing would help remedy that." The bard somewhat grouchily explained, though he was still smiling exasperatedly. 

He blinked down at the pastry, before unwrapping it with an approving nod from Jaskier. Geralt was frankly impressed that Jaskier had noticed anything; especially how much he bothered to eat in a day. He was further surprised when Jaskier continued speaking. "You barely pick at your food normally, now you don't even bother with getting things for yourself. Love, you know you need to eat, you'll be thinner than me soon. Especially considering how sick you were earlier." 

Geralt didn't reply, merely curling up against the fallen tree and around his food. How did that bastard know he liked gooseberries with honey? The nonresponsive gesture seemed to be all Jaskier needed, as Geralt watched while he nodded to himself and then moved to sit back beside him; this time his faithful lute was with him as well, and he plucked aimlessly as he began some spiel or another.

Geralt slowly picked his way through the roll as Jaskier spoke, half listening to his tirade and making a small noise whenever Jaskier seemed to want his comment. It was achingly familiar, settling into Geralt's chest like an old song and making its home in a way he didn't think he minded all too much. It was only after he realized he was almost done with the pastry, and that Jaskier had fallen silent, did he look up from it. Jaskier was smiling fondly at him, seeming unrepentant after being caught staring so blatantly. 

"... What?" Geralt couldn't stop himself from asking, eyeing the bard with well hidden curiosity. Had his kohl smeared while he was eating? 

"Nothing, nothing to worry over, dearest. You're just lovely to look at is all." Geralt felt a twinge of  _ something  _ through his chest at that, hunching slightly into his lap. "What? I speak the truth." Jaskier seemed undeterred by his sudden stiffness. "You're as beautiful as a goddess; could swear you were Artemis herself while you were hunting earlier." 

Geralt couldn't believe his ears, and stared at Jaskier in befuddlement. He could feel his face flush lightly, and shoved down the part of himself that brightened up in hope. Witchers weren't pretty, no matter how many times Jaskier told him otherwise. He would leave just like everyone else, and then Geralt would be left alone just like always. It was a fact. It was a truth, just like the truth that witchers weren't  _ beautiful _ .

"Can't be a goddess." He eventually grunted, turning to stare at his food and avoiding Jaskier's gaze. It was an obvious request not to delve into the conversation, one Jaskier was well-equipped at ignoring. 

"Why not?" He asked, voice a near whine. The look Geralt shot him was near incredulous, raising a pale brow and glaring lightly. He watched as Jaskier thought for a moment, before realization bloomed across the bard's face. "Oh." Jaskier said quietly.  _ Good, maybe he'd fuck off _ . "Geralt, you know you can be anything you want." 

A harsh snort at that, that implied he could  _ choose _ what he wanted and they both knew how well that went. "Sure, Jaskier." Geralt humored him, moving to poke at the fire Jaskier had somehow managed to start without him or the convenient use of igni.

"I mean it, Geralt." He was still talking. "You can let yourself have nice things. I know you've been wanting to grow your hair out, why don't you?"

An annoyed sound and Geralt casting him a warning glance, eyes reflecting the fire sharply. "Careful, bard. Someone might rip it off my scalp when I'm too slow one day." 

"Then why haven't you cut it all off yet? Lambert and Eskel keep their's sheared short." Jaskier countered. Geralt opened his mouth to snap something back, before slamming it closed with a sharp clack of teeth. The thought of his hair  _ gone _ made something in his chest convulse, and he tried not to grimace externally. 

"See- you  _ like _ having your hair long." Damn Jaskier for his intuition. Geralt growled, whipping away to search through Roach's saddle bag for nothing more than an excuse. The pastry was long abandoned by now, still half demolished on its paper besides Jaskier. "Geralt, come  _ on. _ Just talk to me! It really isn't all that bloody hard, I swear it's as if you're allergic to it." 

"If I was, would you end the conversation?"

"Not at all, I'd just hope you wouldn't fall over." 

Geralt gave an aggrieved sigh, tilting his head to glower at the ground. "Why don't you ever know when to  _ quit _ ?" He asked, rhetorically. 

"Because I've learned that with you, I can't let myself quit." Was the bard's blunt reply. "You'd rather work yourself to an early grave before admitting what was going on in your head. Earlier was a perfect example of that." Before Geralt had the chance to get another proper word in, Jaskier was somewhat mockingly patting the ground besides himself. "Now. Come back over here and finish this, I'll not have you losing weight with me around." 

"Fuck you." He snapped back, feeling a stab of regret for the harshness but forcing it down. He was  _ tired _ . When Jaskier simply raised a challenging eyebrow, looking nonplussed and challenging all the same, he deflated. Geralt –meekly, though he'd deny it– moved back over to the damned tree, sitting down in the same place he originally was and reluctantly picking up sweet Jaskier wanted him to eat so badly. 

Geralt still didn't know how the man figured out his favorite fruit.

*****

Several more days passed before Geralt felt like any sort of conversation, predominantly getting his point across using his hands or grunting. He was lucky Jaskier had known him so long- really, he was lucky to know Jaskier at all. He didn’t quite understand why the bard had stuck around for such a long expanse, but he had and it didn’t seem like Jaskier was going anywhere anytime soon. The thought of him staying made Geralt’s chest feel warm and tight; nothing like the bad pressure either. He felt akin to that first time Eskel called him a friend,  _ wanted _ and  _ needed _ and yet wrong all the more due to it.

They hadn't spoken on the incidental argument since it had happened, for which Geralt was thankful. Even after nearing four days had passed, remembering how  _ ridiculously  _ defensive he had acted sent his face into a flaming mess. It was humiliating to think on, and all over necrophages and sickly sweet lies from a silver tongue. Jaskier obviously knew there was something going on, and where Geralt had hoped and prayed to knock him off his hellbent determination to find out, he wound up showing him all the same. 

Geralt doubted his mental ability to handle another barrage of questions similar to that, the thought of what exactly had caused them making his stomach roll already. Damn cursed beings could rot in hell and he'd never be happier, never having to see them again  _ or _ deal with the aftermath they left upon him. Jaskier was  _ still _ eyeing him up as if he was bound to explode one of these days, a whirlpool of whatever emotion he somehow couldn't manage this time. 

The confounded thoughts led him to another strange occurrence that had been happening, even weeks before Geralt had truly caught on to it. Something that had been building a steady confusion and awe in Geralt that he still hadn't adjusted to. 

Jaskier kept buying him things. It was an absolutely foreign feeling that Geralt could not wrap his head around. Every town they stopped at, every inn they stayed at, sometimes even when they were only surrounded by expanse upon expanse of flora and fauna. A trinket of some sort, maybe a bracelet or anklet that wouldn't get in the way of his armor; nothing big, just…  _ things _ .

Until today, they were just things, that is. It was a cheap little inn near the center of the town they stopped at. Nothing lavish, nothing big, but it had a door for each room and a lock to go with them. The beds weren't the nicest thing Geralt had ever laid on, but it was a  _ bed _ and for that he was grateful; he doubted his bad leg could take much more of the cold ground without breaking again. Just the sharp ache whenever he shifted the wrong way had him biting his tongue, he didn't want to imagine what  _ rain _ would do to him at the moment. 

The warm bed was exactly where Geralt had nested himself when Jaskier gave  _ it _ to him.  _ It _ was nothing outrageous, just a silver pendant with light jewels. What mattered most to Geralt was what it did; the pendant was used to hold hair back, something Geralt had been experiencing difficulty with the longer he allowed his hair to grow. 

He couldn't stop thinking about it throughout the day, the band keeping his hair firmly up and styled even as he worked and hunted for contracts or coin. Jaskier has thought about him. Jaskier had thought of him and bought him something  _ special _ . It made the strange flutter in his act up, forcing his heart to race and his hands to shake. He felt nice in a way he couldn't quite comprehend, and the thought of it put his nerves on edge. He couldn't quite bring himself to undo the clasp.

Things finally came to a head when Jaskier presented him with something he couldn't possibly accept; couldn't even see himself wearing. He'd ruin it, for one thing, and for another, it was entirely too expensive for someone like  _ him _ . 

The item in question was a set of earrings, which would not have been so strange typically; Geralt himself owned a few sets of plain silver hoops he wore whenever the fancy struck him. They were rather common, and even added a piece of further protection with their metal making.  _ These _ earrings were certainly strange, though. For one, they were embedded with  _ amethysts. _

Geralt couldn't wear amethysts. He'd ruin them in a heartbeat on a hunt. Or even lose them in his endless bags, despite being about as meticulous about his organization and cleaning as a cat, according to Jaskier on more than one occasion. And yet… and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop the bard as he moved to put them on, cupping Geralt's face as if he was some blushing maiden. 

The jewelry was heavy, though well balanced, and Geralt almost wanted to ask for a mirror before remembering what exactly he was wearing. The feeling soured, and he clenched his jaw lightly. 

"What do you think?" He heard Jaskier ask, before the man was moving without an answer and retiring the small little mirror he often carried with him. That was a small quirk of his Geralt never understood, how could someone stand to see themself that often? Geralt could scarcely deal with reflections in water before he was lurching away and moving to distract himself. 

"Here- have a look, I think they're perfect." Jaskier's voice was warm as molasses as he spoke, the musician holding the mirror up for Geralt and letting him reluctantly peer into it. The sight that greeted him made him want to exist anywhere but there. The earrings were undoubtedly gorgeous, but it was as if he had blanched them of any color. The yellow of his eyes had intensified and it was  _ awful _ . How could Jaskier think that  _ this _ was perfect? He looked like a monster. 

Something must've shown on his face because the mirror quickly disappeared, only to be replaced with the man in question and the obvious worry etched into his skin. "Geralt, what's the matter?" 

Geralt opened his mouth to reply, before the air got caught in his throat and nearly gagged him.

He sighed heavily, before ducking to scrub at his face with an almost violent fervor and choke on another breath. He refused to let himself cry; it was absolutely ridiculous to allow himself to get so worked up over something so inconsequential."I'm pretending to be soft when I wasn't made to be." he rasped, a quiet admittance, voice cracking to his obvious ire as he painfully scrubbed at his eyes. 

"Geralt- Geralt, dearheart, you are  _ not. _ " Jaskier moved to pull him back into his arms, "You're not pretending, you are  _ not _ pretending." He whispered fiercely into his hair, pressing a kiss to their cry flushed forehead. "You can be soft; you can be  _ anything _ you want. I swear it." The poor bard had undoubtedly been expecting a much better reaction than this. Geralt felt a pang of guilt and ruining something Jaskier had wanted to be happy. 

"I don't want to be  _ this  _ anymore." The words fell from his mouth before he could stop them, and he froze when he realized what he had said. Geralt dared to glance up at Jaskier when the bard didn't respond, being met with a stunned face that filled his stomach with long forgotten dread. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so shaken over something so  _ ridiculous _ . That's what anyone else would've insisted he was being.

"Geralt-" 

"Don't." Geralt interrupted him, glaring back at the floor and clenching his teeth. "Just don't." 

"I can't believe I didn't realize this before, I'm such an  _ idiot."  _ Jaskier hissed, scrubbing a hand over his face. Geralt could only watch in confusion and no small amazement as he moved abruptly away and paced around for a moment, mumbling to himself. "Really- after all this time and  _ especially _ after the way you're treated for anything even remotely feminine-"

"What?" Geralt snapped, taken aback by that. He jerked some inches away when Jaskier suddenly strode over to him. 

"I'm going to do something, yes?" 

"Jaskier, what are you-" 

"And I really, really need you to listen carefully when I sing it. Understood?"

"Jaskier–" Geralt was spoken over again.

"Just trust me, you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Now, listen carefully to how I change this.  _ He's a friend of humanity, so give him the rest." _

Geralt was even more confused, flustered the slightest bit when Jaskier stepped almost chest to chest to him. _ " _ Right, that was the same as usual. Listen to this;  _ They're a friend of humanity, so give them a rest-" _ and suddenly everything went from somewhat dazzling to entirely too much.

"Jaskier,  _ stop- _ " Geralt broke the chord with a raw beg, looking as if someone had struck him. He felt as if someone had struck him, a blow right into his stomach and chest and the core of his soul itself. Was it truly  _ his _ ? He could feel his face burning, scalding and he couldn't comprehend  _ why _ \- when was the last time that had happened? Years. Too long to remember after a lifetime of concussions and bloodied potions.

Jaskier was closer now, wrapping a warm arm around  _ his-their-her? _ shoulders and drawing  _ them-her  _ in to hide their face in the dark of the bard's neck. "Geralt, Geralt- darling, tell me what's wrong? Is your head hurting again? Did I say something?" He had obviously panicked, not expecting Geralt to just burst into tears. Honestly, Geralt wasn't expecting to act as such either.

Geralt shook their head quietly, hiding their face as they slowly felt a piece of themself almost click into place. There was something strange missing, not quite hedged in, but the shocking jolt of emotion they felt at hearing the lyrics almost knocked it clean from their mind at the moment. Everything was  _ so much, _ but it seemed all the more better for it. 

They sniffled piteously into the crook of Jaskier's shoulder, feeling as he stroked gentle hands through their hair. "It's okay to cry, Geralt." They heard Jaskier murmur, pressing a firm kiss to the crown of their head. "Everyone does it. It's  _ okay _ ." Geralt took a shaky breath at that, feeling the pressure behind their eyes build and build and  _ burn _ . Jaskier was whispering to them, holding them firm against his chest when Geralt finally gave in with a small sob.

It tore from their throat like a wound, and their breath caught before they sobbed again– a wretched, animal sound that made their face burn from both tears and embarrassment. Their breath felt stuck in their chest and they still  _ didn't know why they were crying _ but their head was foggy and they didn't care anymore, Jaskier was there so they were  _ safeprotectedlovedsafe _ and nothing would happen because Jaskier wouldn't let it. It didn't matter that Jaskier was only human, nothing mattered in that moment. 

"Can you— sing the song again?" They barely mumbled into the dampened fabric of Jaskier's stupidly bright doublet. 

"The song? Do you mean– oh." At the sudden change of tone Geralt tensed again, suddenly all too skittish of someone they had never feared before. They don't think they could handle Jaskier leaving right now, and started to wonder when he had become so integral to them and their life. 

"Hey, hey. None of that, of course I'll sing it, I'll sing until my throat bleeds if I need to." 

"Please don't do that." 

"Oh, was that a please?" Jaskier's voice was teasing. "What a rarity." Geralt merely huffed in response, fighting off the twitch of their lips that was invoked. 

"Okay, okay. No more teasing, though I do have a question, dearheart."

Feeling more than hearing the hum he received in response, Jaskier nodded. "Could I change the reference one more time?" Geralt stiffened at that, and he was quick to soothe. "I've got you. I've got you, I promise." Geralt could hear Jaskier talking and they almost responded, until it made their throat suddenly convulse and they choked again instead. "It's alright– I know. You don't have to say anything. Here- song time, a tad different though." 

Gerslt forced themself to swallow, shifting to look hesitantly up at Jaskier as he began to sing. They closed their eyes back and rested against his chest as he began to hum the tune.

" _ She wiped out your pest, got kicked in her chest, she's a friend of humanity, so give her the rest _ ." 

Geralt's breath caught in their throat and that small, ragged piece fell right where it was meant to. "Oh." She barely managed, blinking at not quite nothing before looking up at Jaskier again. He was staring at her as well, smiling faintly. She could feel her eyes burning again.

"Oh?" He echoed, raising a small brow. 

She nodded, staring back down at her hands. "I liked that." She admitted.

"Liked it as you liked the first lyric?"

Geralt paused, mulling the question over in her mind. The lightness that had built in her chest made her feel giddy, similar to the  _ right _ of the first lyric, but somehow different all the same. "Not quite." She said, voice small but smile slowly widening. "But it felt…  _ correct. _ " After a small moment to ponder the long feeling sensation of  _ rightness _ that was still bubbling in her, she hesitantly braved herself to ask. "Do you- would you.. uh-" 

She felt a firm palm stroke through her hair at the stumbling sentence, before Jaskier responded without even needing a question. "I'll refer to you however you wish me to, lovely. Would you prefer this?" She nodded quickly. "Just a few more questions, love, if you don't mind?" Jaskier murmured softly, waiting for her to respond.

".. Yes?" Geralt asked.

"Would you like to go by a different name?" Geralt paused at that, having not thought on it in the slightest. She had always been Geralt, whether it be Geralt of Rivia or just Geralt, Vesemir's child surprise. Her mother had never named her, she knew that much about the long gone woman; Vesemir had chosen her name.  _ Vesemir _ had given her the name. 

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, "I don't think so." She replied. "Vesemir gave me my name. Not my parents." She tried to explain why it was still  _ correct _ but the words failed in her mouth, and she instead shifted away slightly to sit up properly. Despite already missing the easy and all too human heat of Jaskier's chest – _ to think she was trusted that close to his heart without hesitation, she still couldn't wrap her mind around it _ – she leveled until they were staring at each other correctly; perhaps for the first time all night. 

There must've been something on her face, as he nodded in shocking understanding and smiled at her proudly. _Why was he proud?_ _Another thing she doubted she'd ever understand._ Jaskier still had that fond look in his vivid eyes as he asked another, equally calm question. "Geralt, are you a woman?" 

Geralt stared at him for a moment, befuddled. "What do you mean?" She scrunched her nose lightly at the amusedly exasperated look that came across his face. 

"The same way I am a man, love. I've always been one, but not everyone saw me that way before."

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Was she? She didn't know.

"... I don't know." She admitted, eyeing him. At his nod, she continued. "I'm- I'm not a man." Geralt knew that, had known that longer than she likely even realized, she was beginning to understand. To think meeting Jaskier would lead to such a new page of her life, a  _ perfect _ page of her life. She eyed Jaskier carefully as she finished speaking; despite knowing she was safe there was still a lingering anxiety that she  _ hated _ . Why would she need to be afraid around Jaskier? 

"Okay, love." Jaskier smiled beautifully at her after her answer, the joy in it making her heart speed up. "It takes time, and you're perfect no matter what." 

_ Perfect? _ Geralt blinked at that answer and easy acceptance. Her astonishment only rose when Jaskier continued, undeterred.

"I remember when I first realized I loved you." Jaskier said, watching her closely. "You stumbled onto the camp with a concussion, I thought you had surely busted your head open." Geralt made a small face at the memory, looking somehow amused and annoyed all the same. 

"I can hardly remember what happened after I walked back, my ears were ringing for days." She said, thinking back. 

"Yeah- you had gotten thrown into a rock by some sort of vampire. Split the skin on your forehead up damned well." Jaskier held hand up to touch the scar lightly, "After everything had calmed you had fallen asleep against me… it made my chest burn, almost." He admitted. "I think you stole my heart. I think I don't want it back." It sent something in her blazing, and she was moving closer without realizing it. 

"Look at me and tell me what you see." she managed to say, staring at Jaskier with something fiery in her eyes. The light he fell in love with that fateful day so long ago. 

It took him zero effort to respond, "I see you," he moved to grasp her hands, holding them tightly to his chest. "I see  _ you _ ." Her furrowed, pale brow urged him to continue, to somehow  _ show _ Geralt.

"The person I fell in love with, the most beautiful sight I've laid my eyes on." His voice was muted, reverent in an intoxication worship that Geralt had never experienced before. Something was moving in her chest, foreign and sending her body to tense. "I see you, Geralt." 

"No one has ever called me  _ beautiful  _ before," she almost silently whispered. "No one before you." 

"Not even Yennefer?" Jaskier found himself surprised at that newfound knowledge. She shook her head, looking to the side. "Ah- Yennefer never seemed the type for… random compliments anyhow." Jaskier hummed, watching as she shrugged. The moment had been broken with that, and yet the thick feelings clouding the room remained. Geralt was beautiful all the same, to him. Though she seemed almost uncomfortable at the mention of Yennefer, Jaskier couldn't quite blame her after all the shit that had happened involving the three of them. 

"Well," he began, hoping to lighten the mood and begin a new habit all in one swoop, "I suppose I'll just have to make up for lost time." Geralt looked at him after that, confusion evident on her pale face. "Everyone else missed out on their chances, it's my turn now. Now…" he moved to press a kiss to her forehead, "Where could I even begin when I have so many amazing things to say?"

*****

Geralt had found a nice spot to sit in the small garden beyond the house they were currently in. She wasn't doing much for once, merely flicking through a well loved book beholding the potions and poultices she'd often experiment with. She enjoyed the science when work was hard to find; something about it brought her a specific type of excitement, one that even hunting was hard pressed to compete with. It made Geralt wonder what path she might have taken all those fleeting years ago, had she not been taken into Kaer Morhen with her brothers in all but blood. 

She was woken from her thoughts and the sound of tentative footsteps making their way through the thick grass. Looking up, Geralt spotted Ciri moving towards her, the boy carrying his own book under an arm, as well as an all too familiar expression of stubbornness. She smiled faintly when he managed to find a spot besides her without crushing any of the slowly blooming plants. 

Ciri didn't say anything as he shifted to get comfortable, merely laying his head on her shoulder and opening his book to skim through it. The silence was light and comfortable, and Geralt was struck with how genuine the moment was. Words weren't needed, something she was almost incoherently grateful for at such a mind numbing time. 

Geralt smiled to herself, looking back down at her own book before closing it gently and resting her head atop Ciri's own. He made a small noise, moving closer, and the warmth that flooded through Geralt almost took her breath away. She was a  _ parent, _ and this was her child sitting besides and against her. Much like her brothers, her son in all but blood; her child surprise. 

It made her wish to take back all the years she spent running, sprinting from something that would always find her. So much had been lost, and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to regret it either. Loss had led her to gain, and after a life of bloodshed and infertility Geralt was happy to say she was content with her gain. She had a man who loved her, who found the missing pieces of her as if seeing through every wall she had ever placed together. A son who stayed with her, who was resting his blond head against her shoulder as she thought. 

She thought quite a bit, a bit more than she had anticipated mulling upon when picking the sun soaked place, but she couldn't bring herself to regret that either. 

Geralt was, for once in years, also content with her thoughts. 

*****

Geralt woke up trembling, shoving her face into her pillow and trying not to howl. Nothing was wrong yet nothing was right, and the witcher felt as if reality was folding in around her. A panicked witcher was a dead witcher– that was Vesemir always said; and yet Geralt couldn't breathe, panting into the sheets in the mimicry for a cry of help.

The darkness was looming around her, imposing and consuming any shred of comfort she had. Her eyes, dilated and unblinking, stared at nothing as she struggled to come back from the adrenaline high sleep always brought. A rough swallow cleared Geralt's throat, and she gripped the pillow tighter as she slowly sat up and swung her legs off of the small bed. She hated how much her hands trembled as they moved to scrub at her eyes, making a weak noise and daring to stand on shivering knees. 

The floor was frigid against her feet, and she padded silently to the window- as quiet as possible to allow Jaskier to keep sleeping. She didn't open the window, merely resting her forehead against the wood and forcing her lungs to expand in her broken chest. It was just as cold as the floor, and she sighed almost hysterically when she finally started to shiver. It would take ages now for her body to heat back up; heart too slow and veins too sluggish to work fast enough at it naturally. Her nose burned, and she was tempted to crawl back into bed with Jaskier, but the thought of dozing off and meeting more nightmares made her hair stand on edge. 

Instead, she inched slowly back to the bed itself; moving down to sit and rest against the post. She doubted she would be properly sleeping for the rest of the night, and huddled somewhat, resting her head on her knees as she shifted to watch Jaskier quietly. He was shockingly quiet in his sleep, face slack and mouth opened slightly.

She had never quite felt a love like the one that struck through her at the sight. Something violently cruel in its empathy, twisting her fragile heart in her chest. This was  _ her _ bard. Not Eskel's, not Lambert's, not even Vesemir's. He was hers, and he somehow warped her blood soaked deeds into an ink that was beautiful. She felt so strongly in that moment that she wished that she could somehow crawl inside his ribs, keep his  _ so delicate, so weak _ human heart and liver–  _ he had said some thought it the origin of emotion _ – safe from anything that dared harm it. 

She quite believed she was beginning to understand what Jaskier meant all those days ago.

*****

Jaskier woke with a small noise, blinking sleepily as he struggled to open his eyes. Disoriented, he turned to return to sleep until he heard a noise. The gentle creaking of wood as someone shifted besides the bed, and he finally cracked an eye open to be met with the sight of Geralt watching him with an amazingly open expression on her face- something fond.

She was also sitting on the floor. 

What?

"What?" Jaskier croaked out eloquently, voice sleep addled and heavy.

"Hm?" Geralt answered with equal eloquence, blinking at him with a small amount of confusion. 

"Did you sleep on the floor?" Jaskier finally managed to ask, sitting up and urging Geralt to shift under the blanket with him. 

"Oh. Not really." Geralt lamely answered, blinking at the opening within Jaskier's nest before moving for the first time in some hours. Her bad hip audibly made a creak of complaint as she managed to her feet, before wiggling under the woolen blankets and contorting into her favorite position where Jaskier was involved: her face buried in the crook of his neck and her arms wrapped around his waist, his own hands firm against her hips. 

"'Not really?'" Jaskier repeated, ensuring she was covered with the thick blankets and hissing when her chilled fingers prodded at exposed skin. "Why were you on the floor at all? The bed is perfectly comfortable as far as I'm concerned." Geralt stilled at the question, and Jaskier felt a bloom of concern blossom in his stomach. "Nightmares?" He frowned when he felt her nod against his neck, stroking a palm across the back of her neck. "Do you want to talk on them?"

Geralt still didn't answer, instead fidgeting to intertwine their legs and further leech the heat from the cave of blankets and body heat they shared. Jaskier had quietly acqeuised to her continued silence, only to blink in surprise when she broke the thick quiet that had overtaken the room. "They normally don't bother me." Geralt said quietly, voice more of an echo than a verbalization. 

"They don't?" Jaskier couldn't quite imagine a world where his nightmares didn't leave him in bed shaking. 

"No. I'm used to them, more or less." That sent a stab of pain through him– how often did someone have to have terrors to be  _ used _ to them? "Except.." she paused, and Jaskier felt her throat convulse from where she was pressed so snugly against him. Jaskier waited as she thought through the words, twirling a lightly curled strand of silver hair around his middle and forefinger. "Except, they've changed recently. It's harder to sleep than it used to be- they're about Ciri, sometimes." Jaskier frowned at the mention of such difficulty, understanding finally dawning on him as to what Geralt was struggling to reach. 

"Ciri is safe, love. As am I; you don't have to worry while we're right beside you." 

"I  _ know _ that," she snapped, "I  _ do _ , but it's like everytime I close my eyes I see–" she made a frustrated noise, growling in the back of her throat. 

"You see us getting hurt?" Jaskier provided, easing off lightly. 

"Of some sort." At that Jaskier pulled away to get a better look at her. Geralt was bare faced and obviously fatigued, even if she would likely deny it until her face turned blue. The purple bags heavy under her eyes spoke an entirely different story, as well as the cold, gray tone of skin that had been chilled for too long. She had to have been sitting out on the floor for hours– and in the dead of Winter, on top of that. 

Jaskier felt a deep sadness tug tight at his chest, and moved to pull her back against him. "Next time,  _ please _ wake me up, love. It doesn't matter what time it is." He knew she wouldn't like that, and expected the answer he received.

"You're human, you need more sleep than I do." 

"And you need sleep too, Geralt." He stopped her before she could start a debate on something this serious. "Nope. Not listening- you need  _ sleep. _ Staying up all night instead of getting help is bad for you and you know it just as well as I do. Promise me you'll wake me up next time this happens?" 

"Jaskier–"

"Promise me, Geralt. I love you, and I want you safe." He felt a rough sigh against his collar, before Geralt thumped her head against his chest. "Geralt.." 

"Fucking— fine. I promise." She caved, and Jaskier murmured in approval as she finally allowed herself to relax and release the tension that had been tightening her muscles. "Not my fault if you get woken up every part of the night, though." 

"I wouldn't care in the slightest, as long as it meant you were safe." Geralt wiggled against him, stretching her long legs and kicking lightly. 

"Why do you– ugh, why do you say things like  _ that _ ?" 

"Like what?" The bard was mildly confused at the sudden change in tone, and restlessness. 

"Like I'm something special." That strange sadness was back, and Jaskier cursed the world to burn for how reluctant Geralt seemed to accept any sort of comfort. She deserved the Earth and more with how golden her heart was, and yet people continued to bleed her dry for each piece of vulnerability she had. 

"You are special, Geralt. I love you  _ so _ much, you have to know you're at least special to me, to Ciri."

"I don't understand." She said, desperate. Her voice was raw from lack of sleep and a strange confusion all the same. It was as if the dawning knowledge that had come to her last night had faded with the sun, bleached out like pages and gone from her grasp once again.

Maybe she was just tired. 

"I know, I know. Hopefully we can help you understand, but for now, try and sleep for me?" Jaskier's voice held a note of concern, and she could faintly smell how the natural salt and calming scene of him had warped with the emotion, making her grimace. She didn't like the way it changed; it was strong, and it meant he was stressed. 

"I'll lay here." She tried to barter, only to be immediately put in place. 

"You'll  _ sleep _ or I'll be forced to get up and start the day, my love." That certainly got her attention, and she snarled lightly in retaliation before succumbing to his attempts. 

"Hm. Fine." Was all she allowed herself to say, biting back a smart remark when he made a short noise of victory. As he shifted to tug the blanket back up around her shoulders, he buried his face into the disheveled hair atop her head and hummed a quick tune, pressing a kiss to her scalp. As she signed in quiet appreciation he moved back and began to lightly sing. 

It was a simple song, nothing even beyond a nursery rhyme; of course Jaskier made it sound brilliant all the same. Geralt spared little attention to the details or lyrics of it as she closed her eyes to the slowly rising dawn, appreciating the rise and fall of his voice. 

She fell asleep stunningly quick, something deep and all encompassing; a place where neither dream or nightmare could touch her weary mind. 

*****

Geralt woke up slowly and sleepily, sluggish as she tried to keep her eyes closed as long as possible. She was achingly warm, and could feel someone stroking through the thick mass of her hair. They were familiar against her, heart a  _ inoutinout _ pattern that stained against her eardrum; lungs taking deep and full breaths. She took a small breath in and remembered who it was when the scent hit her, wood and oil and honey, all screaming the holy scent of her home. Jaskier had stayed besides her as he had assured, letting her sleep against his chest and drown out the outside world's stimulation. 

She basked in the attention he was gifting upon her, still relaxed and almost purring as he twisted and stroked her hair. It was only when Jaskier moved to pull away that she decided to make her awareness known. Geralt opened her eyes blearily, squinting against the light that had filled the room. It must've been at least midday, and she made a noise when she realized. She felt Jaskier shift against her, moving to urge her back against his chest before speaking. 

"Hello, dearheart." Geralt could feel Jaskier's breath fan lightly against her head, and was surprised with herself when she realized she didn't mind it. 

"... Hello." Her voice was deepened by sleep and she frowned slightly at the way it sounded, before swallowing and clearing her throat.

"Alright?" Jaskier asked, 

Instead of verbally answering, she nodded and yawned. The sharp flash of fangs and a rough tongue made Jaskier's mouth quirk, and he moved to press a kiss to the corner of her lips before sitting up fully.

"Would you like me to do your makeup for you?" Jaskier asked, though he himself was still bed raggled and blotchy from sleep. The question took Geralt aback, and she took a moment to answer. She nodded slowly, watching the all too familiar scene of Jaskier moving around to fiddle through drawers and search for the needed supplies. 

There was something about him. His smile, his eyes, the way he laughed. Geralt didn't know what to do with herself when she experienced the full front of it. Jaskier somehow made her feel good even after all those years of bad. He made her want to feel nice. So because it was Jaksier, because it was safe, Geralt did.

She let him move her this way and that, faintly amused as he took out his expensive oils and horse hair brushes, the kohl and rouge he bought for Geralt specifically. The idea that he thought of her when seeing those things made something flutter in her chest again, something akin to love. Was she in love? She didn't know the answer to that either. She did know she felt for Jaskier, something not quite like what she felt for Yennefer, but all too similar to be denied. Instead of the fiery, all consuming lust that had tied her and Yennefer together, thinking of Jaskier was all warm mornings and cool, calm nights. She never thought she'd prefer it. 

Jaskier had moved to paint her eyes, pressing kisses to her jawline and then her lips, before painting them a vivid red. Geralt felt as if she was within her own skin, felt like her heart was in its chest properly, felt  _ correct _ and  _ good _ . She never thought she'd prefer this compared to anything else that could have happened to her, but she did.

She  _ did. _

  
  
  



End file.
